“I have a dog named Panzer right now. I got him yesterday.”
Hilary turned in her chair. “You got a dog yesterday? Yet another secret? How the heck did I not know about this?”
“It was sort of spontaneous.” I wondered if my four-legged spontaneous decision was at my apartment right now trying to pry open my underwear drawer to find a snack.
Hilary’s eyes narrowed. She was winding up for an interrogation, but Scarlett interrupted.
“As Delle mentioned, my name is Scarlett, and I’m your guide to total sexual fulfillment, either with a partner, in a group, or through self-love. Now, is anyone here uncomfortable talking about masturbation?”
Oh, crap.
The night went downhill from there, although I will say Scarlett was well versed in anatomy. I learned more from her than I had in medical school. I also learned about pleasure enhancers such as the Pocket Rocket, the Venus Butterfly, the Happy Rabbit, and the infamous Vagazzler. It looked like something Panzer might want to play fetch with, but certainly not something I wanted anywhere near my tender bits. I’m all for innovation and variety, but any gizmo with ten speeds and five attachments seems risky.
“Here. Try this.” Gabby handed me another drink. This one was just as frothy as the first, but dark pink.
I accepted it with caution. “What is it?”
She grinned. “A strawberry dickery. So drink it and tell me about this new dog of yours. Where’d you get him?”
Careful, Evie. Careful what you say here.
“He was from the animal shelter, and if no one adopted him, he was going to be put to sleep. He had such a sweet face, I just couldn’t let him down.”
Of course, when I said sweet face, I wasn’t only thinking of the dog.
Susie came over and sat beside us. I hadn’t worked with her since the day we’d watched Tyler being carted away in handcuffs. Regular handcuffs. Not the furry kind like on page nineteen.
“Did I hear you say you just got a dog? What kind?”
I was about to be squeezed in a vise of questioning.
“Um, I’m not sure. He’s big, and furry, very sweet. But he likes to eat underwear.”
“Oh,” Delle exclaimed, stepping over to us. “There’s edible underwear on page seventeen. Cherry, blueberry, peach, and green apple. I don’t recommend the green apple, though. That’s not a flattering color on anyone.”
“Well, I’m glad you got a dog,” Gabby said, ignoring Delle. “It’s a good first step toward committing to a relationship.”
“First step?” Susie asked.
I felt the veins in my head start to pulse. I didn’t need all the nurses in the emergency department knowing I was on the prowl for a husband. And I was more than afraid this conversation would somehow come around to Tyler. I tried to use pure energy to will Gabby to keep her mouth shut, but she’d had about nine strawberry dickeries. If the alcohol didn’t set her off, the sugar certainly would.
“Evie has finally dived into the dating pool and decided she wants to get married. I’ve found her the perfect man,” Hilary said, leaning forward into the group.
“The Perfect Man is on page twelve,” Delle said, waving around the catalog. “He’s a bestseller, but don’t forget he needs D-cell batteries.”
We all stopped and stared at her. Unfazed, she shook the catalog again. “D-cell batteries. Six of them. He’s a high-voltage toy.”
After a pause, I turned back to Susie. “I’m just making more of an effort to be social,” I said as if this was not a big deal. Because it wasn’t. Women went on dates and found husbands all the time. I was nothing special.
“Good for you,” Susie said. “For what it’s worth, Dr. Hoover from the emergency department thinks you’re hot. He’d go out with you in a heartbeat.”
“Dr. Hoover?”
Susie nodded and took a long, noisy drink from her straw, draining the glass. Geez, these women could certainly put away the dickeries.
“Frank Hoover. Tall guy, receding hairline. Not bad-looking, but he’s kind of full of himself. Plus his wife left him financially broke. And emotionally broken. Come to think of it, you probably shouldn’t go out with him.”
Broke and broken? That did not sound appealing.
What did sound appealing right about now was a big dose of Tyler. It was impossible not to think of him while talking about men. And while looking at all this carnal merchandise. My libido had lain dormant for too long. Now that Tyler had tapped me, he’d tapped it. The seal was broken, and all I wanted to do was climb back into bed with my twenty-seven-year-old lover, pull the covers over our heads, and—what was it Scarlett the pleasure guide had said?—give in to our basest nature? Yes. That’s what I wanted to do.
“By the way,” Delle interjected again, “these furry handcuffs are actually quite comfortable. See?” She clicked one onto Gabby’s wrist. “Ronald got quite a blister when we tried real handcuffs. These are much better.”
Gabby stroked the fur. “Mike would love these. And they are quite soft. E muito sexy. That’s Portuguese for very sexy.”
Susie poked me with her elbow. “Hey, speaking of very sexy and handcuffs, what do you suppose ever happened with that Jet Ski guy? Do you think he was able to charm his way out of going to jail?”
I stared down into my drink but felt telltale heat in my cheeks.
“That was Tyler Connelly,” Gabby said. “I went to high school with him.”
“Was that the adorável young man who came into the office to have his stitches removed?” Delle asked. “He was quite insistent about seeing Dr. Rhoades instead of one of the nurses.”
Shit.
“So you’ve seen him again?” Susie asked.
“Yes, she has,” Hilary said, her voice a little slurry. “But I’ve warned her off him. He may be cute as hell, but he and his family are all about one foot from jail time. Lucky for them my husband is such a good lawyer.”
Hilary was drunk. I could hear it in the pace and curl of her words. If I was going to tell any of them about Tyler, now was not the time. I needed to change the subject, and fast. I set down my drink and picked up the catalog.
“Well, that’s enough about that. The real question is, are we going to sit here chatting all night, or are we going to buy some sex toys?”
Chapter 19
CHRIS BEAUMONT WAS JUST AS good-looking in person as he was in his picture. Maybe better when you added his friendly smile and a nice tan, accented by his pale yellow shirt.
“Evelyn?” he asked, standing up when I walked into the lobby of Mutsusaka’s sushi restaurant. He extended his hand, but as I reached out, we both leaned in and had that awkward are-we-hugging-or-just-shaking-hands moment. He laughed and kind of patted my arm, opting out of the full-fledged embrace.
“It’s nice to meet you. Chris, right?”
“Right.” He nodded a little too rapidly.
He was nervous, which helped put me at ease. I was nervous too. I had tried everything I could think of to get out of this lunch date. But Hilary wouldn’t budge, and I couldn’t explain why I wanted to avoid it. She had too many bad things to say about Tyler and his family of gypsies, tramps, and thieves for me to admit I was involved with him.
And it’s not as if we were exclusive. We’d had one night. One incredibly fantabulous night of mind-blowing sex. I hadn’t seen him since he’d left my apartment that morning because he’d been working. We’d exchanged a few naughty text messages, but that was about it. So I had every right to be on a lunch date with another man.
But I still felt guilty. Dating multiple men was something I’d have to get used to if I was still looking for that long-term, grown-up husband. Somehow the whole idea had lost a little of its luster, and yet there was no denying Chris met several of my most important criteria. If I had to guess, I’d say he was about an 80 percent match. I didn’
t want to think too much about where Tyler would score.
“Dr. Beaumont, your table is right this way.” A slender hostess approached us. She was reed thin with jet-black hair. I brushed my own copper strands away from my shoulder and wondered if this Chris liked red. I knew Tyler liked it. He’d told me so. Whispered about it right into my ear.
The hostess led us to a quaint little table between a window and a bubbling fountain. Chris pulled out my chair and earned a point for being a gentleman. Regardless of how he might compare to Tyler, he was certainly ahead of my Bell Harbor Singles dates so far. Although that wasn’t much of a challenge. Unless he started cleaning his ears at the table, he’d have those guys beat. By about 1,000 percent.
Chris took his own seat and the hostess handed us menus.
“Please enjoy your lunch,” she said and wafted away on delicate little ankles.
“Have you eaten here before?” he asked.
“A few times. You?”
He shook his head. “Nope, first time. But I’m always up for something new.”
We exchanged some idle chitchat about food preferences and favorite restaurants, and the waitress came and took our order. The conversation was comfortable, even if it wasn’t very exciting. It was hard to get too worked up in the middle of the day while sipping iced tea, even if he was handsome.
“So, your friend Hilary seemed nice on the phone. It’s kind of interesting she sets up dates for you.” He posed it like a statement but the implied question was why didn’t you call me yourself?
“Hilary and I have been friends since our internship year. Sometimes she has a little difficulty remembering boundaries.”
“Oh, really. How so?” His eyes were a rich, warm chocolate brown, but as with most people, his were not perfectly symmetrical. Something only I would notice. But I did notice.
“How does she forget boundaries?” I said. “Well, how about this? The other night she and her sister tricked me into going to a sex toy party.” It was a bold thing to share but would tell me right away if Chris had a sense of humor.
Apparently, he did. He smiled wide and leaned forward. “Really? Did you buy anything?” His demeanor was purely playful, and I’d pretty much set myself up for him to ask.
“I won a door prize, but I’m a little afraid to open the box. Anyway, let’s talk about you. Did I read somewhere you’re from Grand Rapids?”
He rolled easily with the change in subject. “I am. Where did you read that?”
Whoops.
“Um . . . probably not on your credentialing paperwork from the hospital.” I was completely in the wrong here. It was quite possible I was about to accidentally get recruiter Reilly Peters fired.
His brows lifted, and he leaned back. “You know what? You’re the first one to actually admit that.”
“Admit it? What are you talking about?”
His posture was relaxed as he rested his hands on the table. “Today is the fifth date I’ve been on since handing over that paperwork to Reilly. She gives recruiting a whole new meaning. I think she’s got a computer dating service on the side.”
I squirmed in my chair. Now did not seem like the time to admit my association with Bell Harbor Singles.
“Fifth date? I’m suddenly not feeling very special.”
“I didn’t feel very special being contacted by your friend on your behalf, either. But here we are. And I’m glad. It’s very nice getting to know you.” He seemed sincere.
And it was nice getting to know him too.
“In my defense, Hilary set up this date before I’d even had a chance to call you. I hope that makes you feel a little bit better? Does it?”
“So much better.” His smile made his eyes crinkle, and a warmth settled low in my stomach. Chris Beaumont had some husband potential. There was no denying it. His manner was calm but energetic, his smile genuine. And he was very easy to look at. He wasn’t as attractive as Tyler, but still, I could see myself falling for a guy like him. Probably.
Our sushi came, and the conversation continued. We swapped tales from medical school and laughed. We talked about interesting cases, and colleagues, and laughed some more. I was amazed by how fast the time went and what a nice lunch we were having.
“So my secret inside source says both your parents are physicians, right?” I asked, popping a final piece of sushi into my mouth.
Chris wiped his hands on his napkin and gave a nod of his head. “Yes. My dad is an allergist and my mom’s a pediatrician. They both work part-time now. A few summers ago they bought a Winnebago, and now they spend a few weeks out of every year driving around to tourist traps. I think they’re going for a Guinness world record for most truck-stop breakfasts eaten or something equally mundane.”
“That’s very cute.”
“Cute, eccentric, whatever. They’re happy. And at least while they’re gone, they’re not pestering me about getting married.”
I laughed too loud and slapped my hand over my mouth. “Yours too? What is it with parents these days?”
“I know. Exactly. What’s the rush? I’m only thirty-six years old.” He laughed as he said it, obviously realizing that was plenty old enough. “How old are you?”
I tried to frown around my smile. “You’re not supposed to ask a woman that.”
“You’re not supposed to read my confidential paperwork.”
Touché. He had me there. “True. I’m thirty-five. But just barely.”
“So why haven’t you gotten married?” The question was more conversational than accusatory.
I could say that no one had asked, but the truth was, I’d never given anyone a chance. “Busy working, I guess. Honestly, I hadn’t really thought about marriage much until recently, but I just had a birthday, and now my parents are getting remarried.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes. To each other, after being happily divorced for twenty-three years.” I shook my head and gave a little sigh, as if to say again parents these days!
“I think there must be an interesting story there,” Chris said, pulling out his wallet. “I’d like to hear more about it, but I’m afraid I have to get back to the office. How would you feel about finishing this conversation over dinner some night?”
Dinner? Dinner was a bigger deal than lunch. But not that much bigger. Even so, imaginary Tyler popped up with arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Apparently he didn’t find Chris nearly as entertaining as I did. But too bad for figment boy. I had no reason to say no to this dinner invitation.
“I’d like that,” I said and realized it was true. I would like to know him better. Chris Beaumont was appealing, and he met all the proper requirements. He was handsome, intelligent, employed, available. Sure, he didn’t make my body tingle or my skin flush the way Tyler did, and I hadn’t given much thought to tearing off his clothes, but we’d had a lovely, pleasant lunch. “I’ll have Hilary call you to set it up.”
I was teasing, but this time he missed the joke.
“Uh-uh,” he said, pulling a card from his wallet and scribbling something on the back. He pushed it toward me over the surface of the table. “That’s my private number. If you want to see me, make a little effort. I really hope you do. You’re in the top five dates I’ve had lately.”
Was he teasing? I picked the pen up from the table and wrote my number on the back of the restaurant receipt and slid it over to him. “Tell you what. Top five seems a little crowded. How about you call me when you’ve whittled it down to just two or three contestants? That’s my private number.”
He took the slip of paper. “Fair enough. Let me put this into my contact list right now.” He pulled out his phone and pushed a few buttons. Seconds later, mine was ringing.
It was him. I smiled and answered. “Hello?”
“How’s next Tuesday?”
The warmth inside began to
lift, like dough rising. Slow and purposefully. Tyler Connelly was a spark and a bright flame, but Chris Beaumont just might be a lit fuse leading up to something more.
“Evelyn, this new house of yours is to die for, but egad, what were they thinking with this schizophrenic color palette? It’s like Sherwin Williams and Benjamin Moore had a wild sex orgy in here.”
Fontaine Baker was as loud and eccentric as his mother, Dody. I should have predicted that when she’d told me he was an interior designer, but everyone in town said he was cheap and he was available. In fact, I got the distinct impression he was cheap and available with regard to most things.
“Yes, it definitely needs paint,” I said. “I’m going to need furniture too. All I have is a couch and a bed.”
Fontaine rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Furniture too? Oh, we’re going to have so much fun.”
He said fun, but what I heard was cha-ching, cha-ching. Even if Fontaine was cheap, it was going to cost me some serious coinage to get this place furnished. I hadn’t really thought that through before I’d bought this great big house. I’d been too distracted by the image of Tyler in that damn shower. And in the kitchen. And in the bedrooms.
All of them.
“Let’s go look upstairs,” Fontaine said as if reading my mind. “The kitchen may be the heart of the home, but the master bedroom is where pulses race.” He turned his dark, glossy head my way and grinned like a game show host. “Do you like that analogy? I tried to make it sound medical-like because you’re, you know, a doctor.”
“Um, thank you?”
We reached the door to the bedroom and Fontaine gasped. “Oh, no, no, no. This won’t do. This won’t do at all. This room doesn’t say make mad, passionate love. This room says blah-blah-blah-snoresville. We can do so much better.”
He walked in and spread out his arms, twirling slowly. “What’s your favorite color?”
“My favorite color? Um, green, I guess.”
“Wrong! It’s purple. Picture this room a deep, sultry purple. Almost an eggplant but without the icky taste. Then add a few red and gold accents and lots of mirrors. Like a sultan’s harem. We can do a four-poster bed with lots of sheer draperies and fabulous silk linens. Do you love it? Tell me you love it.”
Best Medicine, The Page 17
